


Sergeant Barnes and the Winter Soldier

by bluegeekEM, madnads



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Altered Mental States, Angst with a Happy Ending, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Community: pod_together, Friendship, Gen, Ghosts who are not ghosts, Healing, Hydra, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Length: 1-1.5 Hours, Sarcasm, Super Soldier Serum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-02 18:38:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11515137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluegeekEM/pseuds/bluegeekEM, https://archiveofourown.org/users/madnads/pseuds/madnads
Summary: Not long after his capture during the war and subsequent status as a lab rat, Bucky Barnes begins to see him.  Bucky doesn't know exactly whats going on; what he does know is that the man shares his face, looks like a ghost, and Bucky seems to be the only one who can see him.





	1. The War

**Author's Note:**

> This collaborative work was created by bluegeekEM (the author) and madnads (the podficcer) for the community pod_together.
> 
> Podfic DL Links: [Chapter 1](http://pod-together.parakaproductions.com/2017/SB%26WS%20ch01.mp3) | [Chapter 2](http://pod-together.parakaproductions.com/2017/SB%26WS%20ch02.mp3) | [Chapter 3](http://pod-together.parakaproductions.com/2017/SB%26WS%20ch03.mp3) | [Chapter 4](http://pod-together.parakaproductions.com/2017/SB%26WS%20ch04.mp3)  
> (~1hr 11minutes total)  
> 

The first time Bucky saw the ghost was when he was strapped to a table and hallucinating out of his mind. 

He’d been seeing and hearing things that weren’t there – that couldn’t possibly _be_ there – for hours, twitching and groaning whenever another figure entered the room. It didn’t matter whether they were there to stick him full of needles again or simply to observe him and listen to his increasingly desperate rambling of his name and rank. Why not add a ghost of himself to the mix? His slightly younger and significantly more obnoxious self, it would seem, complete with a clean uniform and a hat tilted at a jaunty angle, as though daring the world to call him on it.

And then _Steve_ was there, of all delusions, and he was huge and dressed like a cobbled-together soldier, and ripping Bucky’s restraints off with his bare hands. Bucky could see the ghost-hallucination off in the corner over the Steve-hallucination’s shoulder, still transparent and frowning as he took in the sight of Steve. Clearly he didn’t believe his eyes, either.

Did hallucinations have eyes? Or believe things?

The fire in Steve-hallucination’s eyes and the set of his jaw were incredibly familiar, though. So, even though Bucky knew – he _knew_ – it had to be another fever-dream, he just spouted some shit about thinking Steve was smaller and allowed the Steve-hallucination to haul him up off the table and half-carry him out of the room.

** ** **

Even without the ghost’s fierce frown and glare, Bucky wouldn’t have ever left Steve behind at the base just to save his own sorry hide. Particularly not since he was beginning to believe that this might all be real and not just another salvation dream he would have to abandon when he inevitably woke up. 

Seeing the figure flickering in the raging firelight next to Steve on the metal walkway, though? That did help him realize that this might be it for both of them.

Still, Bucky would prefer to die alongside Steve, with the enemy base in flames around them both, than alone as a rat in a cage any day.

** ** ** 

It was nerve-wracking to discover that he could still see the ghost here and there on the trek back to base. Bucky had come to accept that Steve really was there, that Bucky and his men had really been rescued, and that Bucky’s mind hadn’t retreated into a fantasyland. He isn’t sure why his own ghost would be the step too far.

He also didn’t want to explore why a giant, muscular Steve Rogers would appear in his idea of fantasyland, either. So, Bucky committed to his survival and freedom being a reality, and decided to roll with the punches. 

Miles into their trek back to camp, they stopped for a rest. They passed around canteens, hastily purloined on their escape from the enemy base, and filled whenever they came across a freshwater source on their journey, be it a stream or the well of an abandoned farm. Bucky tossed his head back, draining his canteen, and when he looked down again, Ghost Bucky was there, smirking at him.

Bucky jumped and reared back from the log he’d been resting against. He wasn’t too proud to admit it. A few other men glanced at him curiously for a moment before politely averting their eyes. No one questioned a little odd behavior on this particular mission, Bucky had noted, and he wasn’t the only one apparently having trouble coping.

No one reacted to the transparent man who happened to look an awful lot like their Sergeant standing in their midst.

Without the excuse of having just been dragged off an insane scientist’s lab table, or being surrounded by the flaming ruin of an enemy’s secret base, Bucky didn’t know what to make of this apparition.

He was just so damned tired. And twitchy.

It could be battle fatigue. Plenty of good men succumbed to it in war. He could be having a mental break, all on his own. If he were delirious with fever and infection it could explain the ghost, but he probably wouldn’t be traveling under his own power, in that case.

Or it could be the aftereffects of whatever Zola had done to him in the lab. It could be some insidious brainwashing, slowly twisting him up inside until it turned him into a weapon against his own people once they’d arrived back at the main camp.

God, what if Bucky was a bomb waiting to go off?

The ghost looked nearly the same as he had the first time: tall, clean-cut, and dressed in a sharp uniform. The only change that Bucky could see was that the ghost appeared more solid than before. Bucky could still see through the ghost’s form to the figures sitting across the clearing, but they were now indistinct.

Throughout Bucky’s examination, the ghost simply watched him, attention fully on Bucky until Steve walked over and broke Bucky’s concentration by taking the empty canteen from his grip and replacing it with Steve’s own full one. Bucky didn’t even have time to form a protest before he was distracted once again by the ghost’s inspection of Steve.

Bucky stood up and was moving to place himself between the ghost and Steve when the ghost’s attention returned to Bucky and he pointed.

Bucky braced himself to hear sinister laughter or barked commands to perform terrible acts of violence upon his fellows, but instead the ghost simply cocked his thumb over at Steve and then pulled at his own ghostly collar.

Bucky just stared at him for a moment before looking around again to be sure that he really was the only one apparently able to see this display. No one was even sparing them a glance.

The Ghost rolled his eyes and plucked at his jacket collar again with a smirk before glancing off towards Steve, and then Bucky got it.

He’d vaguely noticed the bright blue shirt showing through tears in Steve’s leather jacket, noting that the color wasn’t anything he’d ever seen issued by the army, but hadn’t deemed it necessary to inquire further. Now, perhaps…

“Hey, Steve?”

Steve turned from his contemplation of a scrap of paper that looked to Bucky like a hastily drawn map of Europe with a few areas emphasized by dark slashes of pencil. “Yeah, Buck?”

“What are you hiding under that jacket?”

Steve frowned slightly and looked down, then froze for a moment. Bucky could see a light flush on his cheeks and knew he’d hit paydirt. “Umm, what do you mean, Buck?”

“You said that you’d joined the army, Steve. Whatever you’re hiding under there doesn’t look army-issue, so I find myself a bit curious.” Bucky could tell from the set of Steve’s jaw that he wouldn’t give an answer unless Bucky dragged it out of him. “What, exactly, are you doing for the army, Steve? Besides submitting to mad scientists and conducting suicidal one-man rescue missions?”

Steve coughed. And it was definitely a fake cough. Bucky could tell, having experienced more than enough of old-Steve’s body-shaking pneumonias in the past to tell the difference.

“Well, I was helping the war effort by selling war bonds and trying to boost morale.”

“Uh-huh? And?” Bucky needled.

Steve sighed and unfastened the jacket, first revealing a bright white star smack in the middle of his chest and then red and white stripes down his abdomen.

Bucky could only laugh. And laugh and laugh, even after Steve’s blush brightened and he scowled darkly at Bucky. “Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying this, Buck.”

That was when Bucky began to suspect that Ghost Bucky might actually be on his side.

** ** **

Bucky felt as invisible as Ghost Bucky while observing Steve and Carter awkwardly flirting in the bar, and didn’t hesitate to say as much when Carter strolled off.

At Steve’s “maybe she’s got a friend” crack, he heard just a whisper of sound by his ear, “We deserved that.”

He couldn’t even argue.

** ** **

Between Steve’s lack of subtlety in uniform choices and his desire to run headlong into any pocket of trouble he could find, he kept Bucky’s sharpshooting skills well-practiced by making himself a target in every engagement they entered. Bucky couldn’t even attribute the extra sense that told him when Steve was in danger to the ghost – this was hardly the first time he’d had to break up a fight and rescue his best friend from severely uneven odds.

Given the ever-increasing effectiveness with which Steve was learning to wield his new body, however, Bucky couldn’t even tell if the odds were as stacked against them as they once were. Steve was, quite simply, a force to be reckoned with, now complete with a body to match his spirit.

Ghost Bucky seemed pleased with Bucky’s instincts and reactions. Most of the time Steve’s short salutes of acknowledgement when Bucky eliminated yet another enemy sniper gunning for him were accompanied by a thumbs-up from the ghost, if he was around.

** ** **

The Commandos had played fast and loose with their mission instructions. Again. And they all knew they were in for it as soon as Colonel Phillips caught up to them after spending the past hour defending their actions to the brass.

Even knowing what was to come didn’t prepare him for the degree of fury, sarcasm, and impatience that the Colonel managed to cram into a single order. Even Ghost Bucky snapped to attention when Phillips barked at them, unseen though he may be by all except Bucky himself. 

Of course, when Bucky smirked at the sight, Phillips caught him and gave him a chewing out worthy of Steve’s Ma. Steve didn’t even try to defend him, leaving him to his fate. 

** ** **

After metal tore away in his hands and he fell, even as most of him was screaming and panicking, a tiny part of his mind hoped that Ghost Bucky would stay and keep an eye on Steve, rather than fall to his death - second death? - with Bucky.


	2. Hydra

The next seventy years held few glimpses of Ghost Bucky.

It had few glimpses of any kind of Bucky, actually.

** ** **

Sometimes, due to the disorientation of cryostasis, the Soldier emerged babbling garbled words over and over, barely registering them as a name or identification number. Once, he recognized them as English just before the bright pain of the chair hit.

A rare few times, as the restraints were closed around him, the Soldier would catch a glimpse of a man off in the corner. The man was in a clean uniform, not one the Soldier recognized, and well-groomed. He looked like a man who should be smiling, but instead he was frowning. 

Always frowning.

But he never had to consider the man, or why no one else in the room seemed to react to him, for long at all.

** ** **

The primary target used a shield painted like a target to take on the rocket that the Soldier launched at him, sending the man careening off the bridge they had chosen for the confrontation. 

Convenient.

The sight of the red, white, and blue had caused a strange feeling to wash over him briefly but the Soldier’s hesitation was barely noticeable. He did not pause his advancement on the other high level target or the accomplice until there was a flash of… something, in his peripheral vision. For just a moment, a man stood where no one had been a mere moment ago and he was no panicked civilian. When the Soldier turned to fully assess the figure, it had already disappeared. 

A barked command from one of the members of the strike team broke him out of his brief distraction, a familiar blankness filling his mind that refocused his attention on the mission. The Soldier approached the secondary target with the sound of gunfire from behind him loud in his ears, not firing his own weapon for several steps as he allowed the blankness to give rise to instinct, and all that mattered was fulfilling the mission objective.

** ** **

“Bucky?” The target appeared confused and his stance had dropped from its aggressive posture.

That same strange feeling suffused the Soldier’s mind again, crashing up against the frustration and anger at his failure to satisfy the mission objective in an efficient manner. “Who the hell is Bucky?”

The Soldier isn’t sure whether it was his focus on the target or the faint outline of a figure, the same one from the bridge, behind him that distracted him enough to miss the accomplice _flying in_ to knock the Soldier off his feet, but it was an unacceptable failure of perception.

Even recognizing that, though, didn’t stop him from a glance over at the figure once more. It was now clearly a man with a familiar face currently twisted in fury and wearing a military uniform. The Soldier glared, gritted his teeth, and lifted his gun to aim at the target once more.

He shot. 

He... missed.

There wasn’t time to consider his possible malfunction before he was dodging out of the way of the missile the secondary target, injured but still alive, launched at him. The swiftly approaching sirens, his repeated failures to eliminate the targets, and the damage to his left arm and possibly his mind, left the Soldier little choice beyond retreat.

** ** **

The transparent figure followed the Soldier back to the base, glaring at him the entire time. Each time the Soldier dared to look in the ghost’s direction he would be struck by another flash of a vision or wisp of words all hinting at horrors that he couldn’t, that he didn’t _want to_ examine for fear that they were more than just a punishment for his most recent failure.

After a particularly brutal series of images caused a reaction that sent a scientist flying across the room and made the ghost smile in satisfaction, the Soldier attempted to regain control of himself. He would be punished if this were to continue.

When the mission leader walked into the room, however, the Soldier knew that punishment would be inevitable. He could feel himself growing colder and going blank. He tried to cling to something, but so little in his life was warm enough to fight off the iciness of his missions, his storage, his handlers.

Except for that brief feeling he got when he’d fought with the primary target. 

The mission leader advanced on him, lips moving, but the Soldier wasn’t able to hear him over the rushing in his head until-

“No! Snap out of it!” The Soldier heard the words, the only clear sounds in the room, but he couldn’t identify their source.

He couldn’t. The Soldier grasped desperately at the memory of the man on the bridge, of the warmth he felt as little flashes of memory battered him, but he was losing his grasp-

The mission leader struck him across the face with more force than the Soldier felt the man’s aged body should be able to muster. The pain from the blow felt distant, already fading into the mass of aches from the earlier battle, but the picture of the man from the bridge grew sharper and closer, easier for his mind to grasp.

“The man on the bridge. Who was he?” He asked, voice raspy even to his own ears.

The mission leader’s reply didn’t feel like the truth, though it didn’t sound like a lie, either.

“I knew him.”

The Soldier didn’t resist as he was strapped into the chair.

The Ghost did, screaming at him, the first sounds the Soldier had heard from him. “Fight! Fight back, damn you!”

The Soldier accepted the mouth guard, trying to ignore the shouts from the Ghost. They wouldn’t change anything, and no one else in the room responded to the clamor. 

As the headpiece rotated and began to lower towards his head, the Soldier breathing began to hitch and gasp in concert with the Ghost’s rising panic. “No, We’ve just broken through again, don’t let this happen-”

The machine pressed against his face and then the Soldier couldn’t hear the Ghost over his own screams.

** ** **

When the Soldier regained consciousness after the Target’s chokehold had incapacitated him, his vision swam in front of his eyes for several seconds. Even after he’d regained his feet and identified the Target’s position, a faint outline throbbed in front of him, its features indistinct.

Each time he fired at the Target, the figure flickered out of existence briefly, coming back, though fainter each time. 

When the Target finally collapsed, the figure did not reappear.

*

The entire time the Target spoke, the ghostly figure stood nearby, arms crossed over its chest, glowering at the Soldier. Each sentence caused a spike of pain to lance through the Soldier’s mind and he couldn’t identify if it was the Target or the ghost that caused it. With each spike, however, the Soldier’s fury grew and he lashed out with increasing desperation.

And then the Target dropped his shield and conceded the fight, confusingly claiming that the Soldier was somehow a friend.

“You’re my mission!” The Soldier began to take out all his rage and disorientation out on the Target, beating and bloodying the man’s face.

“No- Stop- No!” The desperate shout that was all that caused the Soldier to halt his barrage didn’t come from the Target. He didn’t even try to defend himself, which only enraged the Soldier further.

“Then finish it. ‘Cause I’m with you to the end of the line.”

The world began to burn. Or the Soldier did, a feeling like acid rushing through his veins. The Target’s face sharpened in front of his eyes and he looked so terribly familiar. The Soldier’s mind cruelly reviewed images of each time one of his bullets tore through the Target’s body and he desperately heaved in breaths that his body didn’t want to acknowledge, because he still felt like he was suffocating.

As the ship jolted beneath them, jarring them both and sending the Target hurtling towards the earth below, the indistinct sounds of someone shouting, barely recognized in the background over the dying ship’s groans, also sharpened.

“You promised!” The Ghost was shouting at him, desperate and crying. “You promised you’d stick by him forever! You were all he had left!”

The Soldier’s head hurt - it _screamed_ \- the agony worse than the chair, and he could only watch as the Target’s limp body fell with the rubble of the ship into the river below, while the Soldier did nothing.

** ** **

As the Soldier looked down at the waterlogged, damaged body of the Target he’d dragged onto the shore, he could see the Ghost in his peripheral vision doing the same. Both of their eyes remained locked on the man until they could see water trickle out of his mouth followed by the man sucking in a few shallow breaths.

So softly that the Soldier isn’t sure he was meant to hear, the Ghost said, “If he’d died, you wouldn’t be worth saving.”

** ** **

Since leaving the riverbank, the Soldier only saw flashes of the ghost in his peripheral vision. The apparition seemed to be following him. Monitoring him? Until that thought occurred to him, the Soldier had not found the ghost’s surveillance disturbing. That, in itself, should have bothered him, an increasingly urgent, tiny part of his mind told him. He could not waste resources examining what was happening in his head until he had secured supplies and identified a new goal. Until the ghost revealed his intentions, the Soldier would observe and note activity. 

He was not sure what tactics could work against ghosts, anyway.

The Soldier had to form a plan. Although his duties to his handlers had required him to improvise at times, it was always within defined limits. Questioning or challenging those limits had severe consequences, the Soldier knew, though he did not have clear memories of how he knew this. Attempts to force the resurgence of the memories resulted in an aching head and grimacing from the ghost until he flickered out of the Soldier’s line of sight.

It was not necessary to search for this information. Currently, he had no limits, therefore he was not subject to consequences. If any member of Hydra attempted to impose new limits upon him, the Soldier would respond. Forcefully. 

It took an unknown expanse of time before the Soldier stopped hearing a rushing sound in his ears and became aware of himself again. Perhaps a consequence of his retrieval of the Target from the river combined with an attempt to force his own reset? His flesh hand was clenched into a tight fist and that entire arm hurt with the tension he held in it. His body had not had sufficient time to begin healing his wounds from the battle.

The Soldier breathed in through his nose several times and then evaluated his surroundings. Although he was in a sparsely populated area of a park, he still caught the attention of woman jogging and a man walking a small canine. Both deviated from their projected courses to avoid a path that would intersect with his location.

The Soldier did not blend in. His prior mission had not required him to do so after his initial failure to eliminate his first target. Intimidation and efficiency were deemed of higher priorities. Until he could conform to his environment he was vulnerable to discovery. His first priority would have to be to become beneath the notice of casual attention.

The Soldier evaluated the jogger and the dog-walker. Neither were of a build that their clothing would fit him adequately enough to escape notice. Both were also far enough away that to pursue now would likely result in garnering alarm.

“Did your keepers provide you with locations of their hideouts in the city?” The Ghost appeared by the Soldier’s side. 

The Soldier did not jump. Much.

“Or did they just expect you to trot along following orders without asking questions?” The Ghost’s voice sounded both angry and viciously sarcastic. 

The Soldier was familiar with orders given in that tone of voice and replied as he would a mission head. “Questions outside of direct mission application are discouraged.”

“Is that right?” The Soldier identified mockery in the Ghost’s voice.

“Yes,” he said. “Verbal and physical reprimand. Reeducation. Medication. Premature mission termination and return to cryostasis if the mission parameters permitted, full wipe and retraining if the mission could not be altered.” 

The Ghost said nothing for several seconds, simply staring at the Soldier. He made eye contact this time, the Soldier noted.

“Well. That’s more than enough of that, I think.” This time, the Soldier was unable to identify the emotion in the Ghost’s words.

When several more moments passed, and the Soldier said nothing more, the Ghost continued, “So, local bases? Secret hideouts?”

“There are two safe houses and a laboratory in the city. Additional resources in the surrounding areas.”

“Let’s pay them a visit, then, shall we? And be careful. I don’t want you caught before I figure out what to do with you.”

** ** **

A raid of the first safehouse yielded some tech and currency, but no useful intel. The second gave him sufficient access to intel, weapons, and supplies, but by that time other Hydra agents had come up with the same plan and the Soldier had to eliminate witnesses to his continued survival. 

The Soldier had nearly withdrawn when the Ghost appeared to snap at him. “Change your clothes into something a little less distinctive, you’ve got plenty to choose from now. And for fuck’s sake you need to blend in, so try to pick something without bloodstains.” 

The Ghost’s instructions, though irritating, were logical. The dead Hydra agents gave him access to a wider array of additional clothing options for disguise.

** ** **

News of the fall of both SHIELD and Hydra, the aftermath of the crashing of the Helicarriers, and the impressive survival of Captain America surrounded the Soldier wherever he went. Televisions, radios, and newspapers seemed to report on nothing else for days, and the Soldier couldn’t be within hearing distance of civilians for more than a few minutes without overhearing some new theory, conspiracy, or declaration on the events.

The news of Captain America’s triumphant departure from the hospital where he’d been treated for a multitude of injuries was the talk of the day, as the Soldier attempted to blend in with a tour group recently released from their bus and waiting in line to enter one of the Smithsonian museums. Security throughout the city was, unsurprisingly, elevated significantly from baseline, and the Soldier knew that a lone adult male would be deemed a higher potential threat than a member of a family or tourist group.

His jacket, stolen specifically to hide the arm, yet not suspiciously bulky for current weather and security conditions, was not deemed necessary to be removed prior to walking through the metal detectors. The Soldier did so, tapping the device in his pocket just prior to stepping through the arch. No alarms sounded, despite the knives and stun buttons hidden on his person, and, of course, the Soldier’s left arm.

He kept pace with the tour group as they began to wander through the museum, and only ventured off on his own when the group began to break off into smaller components.

Having already memorized the museum layout, the Soldier had no difficulty finding the Captain America exhibit. The trouble was with what he found there.

The Target, Steven G. Rogers, a.k.a Captain America, was telling the truth. He _had_ known the Soldier from a time before the Soldier had even existed. A time when he was known as James Buchanan Barnes, a Brooklyn boy with a family and a scrappy best friend who went off to fight in a war and never returned home. There were pictures, articles, books, and film of that man, who looked both nothing and everything like the Soldier.

“I don’t know if you’re even worth the effort to try to remind you who you are, Barnes.” The voice came from the Soldier’s left. 

Seeing little Steve in the museum made the most impact. Seeing himself was alarming, yes, but it wasn’t unlike seeing a solid version of the Ghost, and he was a figure that the Soldier had come to expect. Standing there with the ghost and the images of their past, being taunted by wisps of memory of a smaller and sicker Steven G. Rogers that the Soldier had never met nor should ever find familiar, was unsettling. 

“I know I’m handsome, but you gotta stop starin’ before someone notices the resemblance, Pal.”

The Ghost was beginning to get on the Soldier’s nerves.


	3. On the Run

“You need food, water, and rest, Barnes.” The Ghost’s tone was serious. His presence at the Soldier’s side was routine by now. 

“Objective not achieved, safe location not yet obtained,” he replied. 

“Yeah, and part of safety includes sufficient nutrients and sleep. You are not a machine, Barnes.” Barnes. The name was the moniker the Ghost insisted upon calling him, and he found that regular exposure encouraged adaptation. 

The Soldier- No, _Barnes_ was torn between the desire to correct the Ghost and the wiser option of ignoring him. He settled for holding his left arm up in front of the Ghost and raising an eyebrow.

“Smartass.”

Barnes agreed. Also, he was gaining an impressive repertoire of emotional recognition. With that single insult, Barnes could detect humor, exasperation, and satisfaction in the Ghost’s voice.

** ** **

“You smell.”

“Go away.”

“No, Bucky. I don’t even have the ability _to_ smell and I can tell that you stink.” 

Having succeeded in training him to respond to Barnes, the Ghost was now working on adapting him to the man’s- to _his_ nickname, as well.

“Fuck off.”

“Take a shower and maybe I will.”

** ** **

“You need to eat more fruits and vegetables.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes slightly, but gamely wandered over to the produce stand. The plums caught his eye and a memory of taking a crisp, tart bite caused him to salivate in anticipation. Buying them would be an indulgence, his access to Hydra funds dried up now in favor of maintaining his cover, but the Ghost was usually right when it came to advice on Bucky’s self-care.

“And maybe try something green next. You wouldn’t believe how much you appreciate fresh vegetables after you can’t have them...” The Ghost’s voice trailed off. 

Bucky paid for and pocketed the fruit before he became aware of the lack of chatter from the Ghost, which was all the warning he needed to raise his wariness. “What’s wrong?” he muttered softly as he left the stand in favor of the more open street.

“I don’t-” the Ghost began, looking around frantically. “Something- something’s wrong. I don’t know what yet. Can’t you tell?”

Bucky huffed out a soft growl and began to walk, assessing his surroundings as he did. Finally he found the source of the eyes he could practically feel boring into him coming from a newspaper vendor across the street. He hurried over, ignoring the man fleeing from him, and grabbed at the paper the man had been reading. It only confirmed the churning in his gut that told him that trouble had found him once again.

** ** **

Bucky stopped outside the flat, hearing nothing, but knowing that it was occupied.

“He’s in there, you know.” The Ghost looked concerned.

Bucky nodded.

“You ready for this?” Again, the Ghost’s uncharacteristic softness was grating.

Bucky shrugged. He might never be ready, if the decision were entirely up to him. And since Steve had taken that choice away from him, he may as well consider the possibility. Memories that had flowed from a trickle to a rush had begun to slow down, Bucky’s notebook pages filling more slowly month by month. Perhaps it was time to jog a few more memories loose, painful though the excavation may be.

He slipped inside soundlessly and took a moment to just look at the uniformed figure of the man who had once been his friend.

** ** **

“C’mon, man.”

Bucky grimaced. He didn’t have time for Steve’s reprimands right now, given that he was a little busy trying to not die.

“Has Stevie always been this fussy?” the Ghost asked, panting as though _he_ were the one fighting off a small militia in a cramped stairwell, instead of standing around uselessly and calling out warnings too late for Bucky to avoid fists to the face.

** ** **

The Ghost sees the red book first.

“Get out. Get out of there, now!”

Bucky glared over the shoulder of the interrogator at the Ghost and restrained his knee jerk desire to respond to the Ghost’s orders. Restrained and confined to his mobile cell, where the hell, exactly, did he expect Bucky to go? 

The alarm in the Ghost’s tone is what snapped Bucky’s attention to what the man held in his hands in time to see the star insignia. In time to understand. Then he joined the Ghost in his panic.

** ** **

“Wake up, champ.”

Bucky groaned, lifting his pounding head and trying to force his eyes to focus. The Ghost stood nearby, worried eyes scanning over him.

“Thought we’d lost you again.”

Bucky tried to shift, but found his left arm, already at an odd position, wouldn’t move. Made sense, given that it was held fast by an industrial vice. Before the bubbling fear could overwhelm him again, a voice called out, and moments later Steve and his accomplice walked into the room, eyeing Bucky warily.

“We’re gonna have to have a talk, you and me,” the Ghost said, also watching Bucky like he was a bomb threatening to explode. “But these fellas have got dibs.”

Bucky groaned and forced himself into a sitting position, as much as his restrained arm would allow.

*

Bucky was able to dredge up enough distant memories to assure Steve that he was Bucky instead of the Soldier, for now, at least, entirely on his own. He didn’t miss the bitter smile that crossed the Ghost’s face, nor try to snuff out the tiny flash of pride he felt at the victory.

** ** **

“You don’t have to do this. We can find another way.” Bucky’s eyes slid over to the Ghost, making eye contact for a long moment before slipping away again. He’d already had this debate with the Ghost several times, and essentially the same argument with Steve several more. There was nothing more to be said.

“Try not to get into too much trouble while I’m gone.” Bucky’s comment was directed at Steve, but he trusted the Ghost to understand the message in there for him.

“You know me, Buck.” At Steve’s reply, the Ghost’s eye roll matched Bucky’s perfectly.

“Yeah. That’s what I’m worried about.” If Bucky had any real choice, he would be the one to watch Steve’s back while the man’s stubbornness and inclination towards heroism led him into danger time and time again. But for now, Bucky was potentially one of the greatest dangers Steve could face. Bucky could not risk that.

Standing in the cryo tube, waiting for the initiation to begin, Bucky’s eyes flicked between Steve and the Ghost. As he saw the tech’s hands begin to move over the controls, he saw the Ghost glance at Steve before meeting Bucky’s eyes and offering a helpless shrug.

Well, he’d had to try, hadn’t he?


	4. The Future At Your Feet

“How long was I out this time?” It took three tries to get his voice to function well enough to ask his question.

“Nearly a year, Buck.” Bucky noted that Steve had let his hair grow out a little and that only one of the scientists in the lab was familiar to him from when he went under.

“Did you fix me?”

“You’re not broken, Bucky.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no.’” Bucky had to fight to lift his right arm up to rub across his face, his limbs still felt so heavy. He squeezed his eyes shut and tugged on a hunk of his shaggy hair, the sting helping to push away the fog in his brain. “So what’s wrong? I thought I told you to stay out of trouble.”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

Bucky glared at Steve’s affronted expression. “You weren’t supposed to pull me out unless there was an emergency or you had fixed my brain, Steve. So which is it?”

“I think we have a solution, Buck, but it’s not… conventional.”

“What exactly about our lives ever is, Stevie?”

“And it requires you to allow strangers, people I and my team vouch for, of course, access to your mind.”

“That doesn’t sound like the best idea, considering your bizarre habit of letting people treat you like a science experiment.” Bucky was lucky his body was still coming back online from cryo, or else his reaction to the appearance of the Ghost might have been stronger. Even so, Steve mistook Bucky’s jerking motion for rejection of his offer.

“It is a real possibility, Bucky. And you wouldn’t ever be alone or helpless with the healers that we’d bring in. You haven’t met Thor yet but I’ve trusted him with my life before. He can vouch for his people, and I’d vouch for him.” Steve dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling for several moments before taking a deep breath and straightening again. “And it’s all we can come up with. There isn’t some magic wand we can wave to make it all go away.”

Steve sighed before continuing. "We were able to track down some documents and a few surviving scientists with some knowledge of what was done to you, or what has been done to others similarly. Intel suggests that the power of the trigger words will fade over time."

"It was years between D.C. and Romania, Steve, and I still lost myself in less than a minute!" Bucky knew he sounded desperate and didn’t bother to try and hide it.

"Yeah, well, with your hard head it will clearly take significantly _longer_!" Steve threw his hands into the air and turned around, clasping them together over his head until his knuckles turned white in an attempt to regain his temper. “But they will, in time, fade.”

"Not good enough." Bucky could say it to Steve’s back as easily as to his face. Bucky wouldn’t risk innocent lives again, just so that a killer like him could walk around free. He definitely wouldn’t risk Steve.

"I know, but with Thor’s help, I've consulted with the medical practitioners of his world. They took samples of my blood and looked at the samples we got from you before you went back in. They examined all the scans of your body and the testing we did from before, the red book and all the other documents we’ve collected, and the recordings we have of you after the last incident so they could examine your behaviors and habits.

“They think that even if they can’t eliminate the triggers altogether, which they don’t think they’ll be able to accomplish, they may at least be able to strengthen your own defenses against them. The triggers will still be there, but you’ll be conscious of them and more able to fight for control from them.”

“This doesn’t exactly sound like a foolproof plan, Stevie.”

“It’s not. With this plan, we wouldn’t know how effective it is until we tested it. You could go through all this and it might fail in the end. But it’s all we’ve got, and I think it’s better to try something than nothing, and far better than leaving you in stasis forever.”

Bucky could hear a sigh from his side. He’d nearly forgotten that the Ghost was there. “This is a terrible idea. But he’s right, you know. We need to try it if we want you to ever have a chance to be free.”

Bucky released his own sigh. “I know.”

“So you’ll try?” Steve’s voice was so goddamned filled with hope, with just those few words. Damnit.

“Yes. But I don’t want you or anyone else anywhere within my blast radius when it comes time to test things out.”

** ** **

Bucky had vetoed lying supine or partially reclined for the process. The healers had forbidden standing. Bucky wound up sitting upright in a sturdy chair with Steve at his back to prop him up if he passed out, or whatever Thor’s people thought might happen. Bucky was hooked up to a cardiac monitor as well, though they had wisely silenced the beeping and alarms.

“It’s not too late to back out. I think everyone would understand if you decided to. Even Steve.” The Ghost sounded sympathetic, which in itself underscored the gravity of what they were trying to do.

Bucky closed his eyes for a moment and pictured a life in which he could maybe, eventually, trust himself. Where he never had to face the cold of cryostasis, or waking up and having to ask about the body count he’d left behind him because he had no memory of it. He shook his head.

“Let’s get this over with.”

*

When Bucky came back to himself, it wasn’t with a shock or a jolt, but more like waking up after falling asleep in a warm bath.

His muscles felt loose and limber. His back wasn’t knotted with tension and a constant preparation for flight. His memory was fuzzy, but not in an alarming way. He felt more like the last hour was a pleasant dream that he was trying to hold on to, even as only wisps remained.

He could remember sitting with the team of three healers in a semicircle around him, and a strange crackling sensation in the air as they began to guide Bucky into some sort of ritual to open his soul to them. Or something. He’d wanted to say it was all shit at the time, he could clearly remember that. But now…

His next memory was of having a conversation with the Ghost and with the lead healer. Who could both see and hear the ghost. What?

Then a flash of the healer telling Steve that Bucky’s mind had already begun to heal itself on its own, that there were signs and scars indicating that he’d always done so, in a manner the healer hadn’t seen before in quite this way, but one that they could build from.

And then, with a clarity unlike any other recollection of the entire afternoon, the healer asked the Ghost, who was apparently a part of Bucky’s mind and always had been, if he would be willing to serve as Bucky’s shield against the parts of his brain he hadn’t yet reclaimed. To be the voice that could cut through all others.

The Ghost did not hesitate.

He glanced at Bucky with a cocky grin and nodded. “I’ve been nannying you for decades, why stop now?”

*

Natasha read from the red notebook. Whether it was because she was the only native russian speaker, or because she always stepped up to the hard jobs, Bucky didn’t know.

Bucky was locked in a cell while she did it. It wouldn’t hold him indefinitely, but it would last long enough for Natasha to escape if Bucky lost himself again and Natasha wasn’t able to control the Soldier. Sam was on guard in the hallway to back her up, if needed. 

Steve was locked _out_ of the area, only allowed to watch through a video monitor, and with King T’Challa and a bevy of guards to ensure his compliance. 

They didn’t have to put that plan into action. As she read, Bucky’s tension ratcheted higher and higher, but for every word she spoke, the Ghost was there, the outline and colors of him sharpening more and more until he looked nearly as solid as Bucky himself did. He whispered in Bucky’s ear to resist, to fight, to ignore. Unlike the last time, Bucky found that he could. 

He could feel the pull of those hypnotic words, the allure of just letting go and allowing someone else to take over the taxing effort of thinking and controlling himself. But this time, giving in to that was a choice, and something he could refuse. Could reject. The fluttering and struggling in his mind wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t agonizing, and Bucky didn’t feel like he was losing control. The Ghost stayed beside him throughout.

When Natasha came to the end of her recitation, she paused for a moment, staring at Bucky levelly, before ordering, “Touch your toes.”

Bucky had no desire to comply. “No.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Touch. Your. Toes.”

Bucky smirked and flipped her the bird. “No.”

Natasha matched his expression with one of her own and crossed her arms over her chest. “Show me some of your old dance moves that Steve has lamented over.”

“Geez, doll, if you’d asked nicely instead of resorting to coercion, I might have considered it. But for now? No. You’ll have to make do with Steve stomping on your feet. Though, I’d bet that Sam would be happy to take your out for a night on the town.”

Natasha’s eyes flashed. “Asshole.”

Bucky could hear the door opening, likely Steve losing patience with waiting. “You know it.”

** ** **

It took a long time and the risk of global destruction for Tony Stark and Steve to begin the long process of rebuilding the very beginnings of trust between them.

It took even longer for Steve and Stark to have a meaningful and constructive talk about Bucky in the present. 

Discussing their previous dramatic fallout about the Winter Soldier version of Bucky had, of course, been among their very first hurdles. But Stark had stubbornly persisted, despite the obvious pain it caused him, and Steve gamely stuck it out throughout each of their arduous attempts at actually communicating with each other.

Stark’s ability to tolerate the current Bucky was… tenuous.

The first time Bucky came face-to-face with Stark, the Ghost practically vibrated with poorly-contained nerves, and he _hovered_.

Stark’s ability to wield massive amounts of sarcasm and bluster that inadequately masked his suffering and nerves set Bucky on edge immediately. Though, to be fair, he’d started pretty damn close to the edge at the reality of this showdown. Bucky’s emotional reserve and instinct to constantly watch for the knife – or repulsor blast – clearly set both Stark and Steve on high-alert.

That meeting did not go well. They both visibly gritted their teeth and agreed to a second, however. And then a third.

The Ghost frowned and glared each time.

“Look. See all the progress we’re making?” Bucky told Steve. He wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic. 

** ** **

“It’s been a long time since we’ve been to an amusement park.” The Ghost was leaning over Steve’s kitchen counter and covetously watching Bucky make a sandwich large enough that he wasn’t convinced he’d be able to fit the entire thing into his mouth with one bite.

Having the resources to be able to access food on demand and in large quantities was one of the first things Bucky had adjusted to in this new life, and he had yet to stop appreciating the phenomenon.

Bucky stopped his construction efforts long enough to consider whether he remembered any trips to an amusement park. After a few moments, he had a faint recollection of crowds, noise, and the sound of someone retching.

“Yup.” Bucky licked the mustard off the knife before tossing it into the sink. He would decide whether to wash it or leave it to annoy Steve, after he’d enjoyed his lunch.

“…And we should go. And bring Steve along.”

Bucky didn’t actively search for more memories, but the one of retching sharpened in his mind until he could remember the rush of air, a mixture of delighted screams and concerning groans, and a young Steve retreating behind a stand to lose the lunch that Bucky Barnes had paid good money for. He raised an eyebrow as he closed his sandwich and evaluated it for the best avenue of approach to get all the fixings into his mouth with each bite and still be able to chew effectively. 

“Steve’s tougher than he used to be, but enough times on a few of the coasters and we might get him to turn green.”

Bucky considered. “Probably not before I do.”

“I’m willing to take that risk.”

Bucky scowled, but decided that the best revenge would be his clear and freely expressed enjoyment of his sandwich while the Ghost watched in envy.

** ** **

When Natasha Romanov appeared out of nowhere to purportedly “check” on Steve and Bucky for the third time since Bucky awoke from his self-imposed cryosleep, Bucky had finally gotten used to having unplanned visitors that he merely adjusted their Thursday night pizza order to accommodate.

When Steve met the delivery woman and hauled up five pizzas containing a variety of toppings, he questioned Bucky’s judgment only for the few minutes it took Wilson to appear, as he often did when Romanov was in town. 

Steve rolled his eyes, and Bucky smiled around his mouthful of pizza until Steve made a gagging face at him.

Hearing a snort from the side of the living room, Bucky saw the Ghost leering at Wilson and Romanov as they talked quietly over a pepperoni and mushroom pizza that Bucky wouldn’t touch with a pole. Bucky was able to roll his eyes and ignore him for a few minutes, until he started hearing obnoxiously exaggerated kissing noises and looked up to find the Ghost staring at the still-talking couple, but clearly trying to rile Bucky up.

Bucky wandered over to the bookshelf containing Steve’s movie collection, examining it while hissing, “Oh my god, you asshole, stop making kissy faces at them!” under his breath.

“They are totally banging, you know,” was the only response the Ghost offered.

Bucky risked a glance over at the two, and Romanov, of course, caught him, raising one arched brow in inquiry. Bucky shook his head and turned back to the shelf. “They are not. Drop it.”

The ghost laughed. “You’ll see.”

*

In the morning, Natasha joined them for breakfast wearing an army sweatshirt. Bucky wasn’t sure if she was doing it just to fuck with him.

** ** **

Meeting Darcy Lewis and Vision, and Clint Barton and Wanda Maximoff again, hadn’t made the Ghost anxious.

Meeting Maria Hill, Jane Foster, and James Rhodes had.

The Ghost _loved_ Bruce Banner, for reasons Bucky did not entirely understand. He also constantly encouraged Bucky to harass the man, the way Stark had a habit of doing.

Not keen to meet the Hulk just yet, Bucky refrained. 

** ** **

The first time Bucky joined Steve on an Avengers mission, the Ghost was with him every step of the way. As the rest of the team acknowledged Bucky’s presence behind Steve, stepping up the ramp onto the jet, the Ghost stared each of them down, as though they could see him, until they smiled, waved, offered a handshake in greeting, or, in the case of Tony Stark, offered a narrow-eyed look and nod before lowering the faceplate of his armor and retreating into silence.

Clint and Natasha took the controls, and Steve turned to Bucky as they lifted off. “You okay, Buck?”

Bucky turned to the Ghost, meeting his eyes for a long moment and accepting his nod, before turning back to Steve. “Doin’ alright, Stevie. We’ve got this.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact time: the original spark for this story was [this adorable piece of fanart](http://piiib.tumblr.com/post/88548351645/buckyfabuckyws) that madnads brought to bluegeek's attention depicting Sergeant Bucky Barnes annoying cranky Winter Soldier Bucky. It was cute and gave us all these fun ideas for a silly story, then an idea for a neat comparison story where we would have a short funny/silly version to contrast with a short serious/angsty version. 
> 
> ...and then the angsty version evolved and expanded far beyond the original idea, and here we are.
> 
> BluegeekEM's notes:  
> Many thanks to the mods of pod_together for hosting this fest - this was a completely new experience for me and I'm glad I had the opportunity to be a part of it. Many more thanks to madnads for her enthusiasm, prompt ideas, willingness to go with the flow, and live-commenting her reactions as I wrote - it was incredibly motivating! Madnads' willingness to let me in on her podficcing process and see how podfic creation actually happens has been such a wonderful experience for me (though I still think that there is a fair amount of magic involved ;) ). And finally, thank you to [Rindle](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rindle/profile) for agreeing to be beta this story and wrangle my tense-switching and punctuation quirks into submission.
> 
> madnads' notes:  
> I had such a blast with this podfic challenge! Thank you soo much for my wonderful teammate BlueGeekEM for being such a trooper! I had all sorts of near incoherent thinky thoughts about a lot of things and she was able to form my gibberish into this beautifully written piece!!!!! :D <3<3<3~~~!!!!!  
> Ever since I saw the fan art of Ghost Bucky taunting Post-WS Bucky, I've been wanting ficcage of it, so thank you, THANK YOU BluegeekEM for writing this!!!! <3<3<3<3!!!!!! For giving me more of Ghost!Bucky being a his sassy self! :D
> 
> It was such fun to work together so closely with BluegeekEM! From the Brainstorming through the drafting process, seeing the words appear on my screen was pure MAGIC!!, giving my excited squeeing, and getting feedback on podfic was really amazing and has made this experience so SO! special for me. I really want to express to you, how great of a partner you are, but words fail me. Thank you BluegeekEM for being so generous and kind and understanding! <3 *all the love to you*
> 
> Also many thanks to the wonderful mods at Pod-together for organizing this wonderful challenge!!!! You've made this so much fun since the beginning with the icebreakers and making checking in so easy and keeping on things! I'm looking forward to next year's challenge!! :D
> 
> Music used in podfic: Dessa's Call Off Your Ghost & Archangel - Strength of a Thousand Men


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